


Common Counsel

by HewerOfCaves



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HewerOfCaves/pseuds/HewerOfCaves
Summary: Maedhros comes to Barad Eithel to participate in a council.Maedhros’s armor was dented and scratched, his hair wild and sticking out from his braids in every direction. He was covered in dark blood.Fingolfin rose to his feet. “Maitimo, what happened?” he asked, surprised enough to slip into Quenya despite the presence of the Sindar.Maedhros bowed stiffly. “I apologize for my tardiness, my lord, we encountered Orc bands on the road.”





	Common Counsel

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to give this a semblance of plot for so long, but I give up. It's just a self-indulgent little story that I felt like writing and probably should have waited until tomorrow to post because I'm tired and there're bound to be mistakes, but I can't wait.
> 
> Not beta'd, not a native speaker.

Maedhros was late. Even going by the most generous calculations, he should have arrived in Barad Eithel early in the morning, yet it was past afternoon, and there was no trace of him. The lords of Fingolfin’s household and the local Sindarin leaders were not inclined to generosity (neither was Angrod, who stared at Fingon every time someone raised the question of Maedhros’s whereabouts), and Fingolfin decided to start the council without his nephew.

Dutifully, Fingon focused on trade negotiations and reports on the harvest, horse breeding and fortifications, keeping his gaze away from the empty seat in front of him. It was during a joint complaint from the Sindarin and Noldorin lords about the price of the goods reaching West Beleriand by the Dwarf Road that Fingon heard a commotion in the yard. When a few minutes later Maedhros entered the hall, Fingon let out a small breath, but his relief lasted no longer than a moment.

Maedhros’s armor was dented and scratched, his hair wild and sticking out from his braids in every direction. He was covered in dark blood.

Fingolfin rose to his feet. “Maitimo, what happened?” he asked, surprised enough to slip into Quenya despite the presence of the Sindar.

Maedhros bowed stiffly. “I apologize for my tardiness, my lord, we encountered Orc bands on the road.”

Dozens of questions sprang to Fingon’s mind, but his father stopped him with a slight movement of his hand.

“Are you wounded?” he asked Maedhros.

“No, but four of my people are. I took the liberty of sending them to your healers upon arriving here.”

Fingolfin nodded. “Your people will be taken care of. Come and sit, tell us briefly what happened and then we will let you rest.”

Maedhros took his place on Fingolfin’s left, his back straight as an arrow. “With your permission, I would like to stay to discuss the strategy. We need to send larger groups to help with the patrols. It is quite worrisome that the Orcs have ventured so close to our borders.” He reached for the map that was in front of Fingon. “If Prince Fingon doesn’t mind, I would show where we ran across them.”

He caught Fingon’s gaze and gave him half a smile. The corner of Fingon’s mouth curled up in response. He pushed the map to Maedhros.

“The first time we met a group when we had not yet turned west to Ladros,” Maedhros said, “They were moving towards the Pass of Aglon. They were not expecting us and were easily defeated. I dispatched messengers to my brother Maglor and my brothers Celegorm and Curufin in Himlad, urging them to be on their guard. We rode on as fast as we could. The second clash was in Ard-galen proper.” He tapped the map. “Here. It was a larger group, but we chased them northward and cut them down.”

He gripped his goblet of wine tightly and took a hefty sip. A few drops fell on the map. Maedhros turned to Angrod, using his entire upper body, his back still stiff.

“Lord Angrod, forgive me, I did not send a message to your keep. I had set out with a small group, some were wounded, and I knew we would need every soldier to repel another attack.”

“I understand,” Angrod said, “I will send a messenger to Aegnor.”

“We need more forces at the border,” Fingon said, “Ard-galen has to be completely devoid of Orcs.”

“Aegnor will proceed with it as soon as he receives my message,” Angrod said.

“Our forces will also set out tonight,” Fingolfin said, “Fingon, would you be willing to lead them?”

Fingon glanced at Maedhros, whose hand was still gripping his goblet with no attempt to lift it.

“Allow me, Uncle,” Angrod said before Fingon could answer, “I have not come with many people, but by your leave, I would depart immediately with a larger group to help my brother. The Orcs cousin Maedhros defeated were too close to Dorhonion. Fingon could join me after the council.”

“If the King is in agreement, I will set out with Prince Fingon and then return to Himring,” Maedhros said.

He raised his right arm to wipe away beads of sweat from his pale face. Fingon frowned and sent a look to his father, silently asking him to conclude the council quickly.

“It is decided then,” Fingolfin said, “Angrod will leave today with a part of our forces and join his brother. Fingon and Maedhros will go forth later.”

They spent another half an hour discussing the plan in detail, and Fingolfin announced the end of the council for the day. One by one, the participants went out, leaving only Fingon and Maedhros with the King.

Maedhros’s posture relaxed a little. He leaned back in his chair.

“I could continue with the council, Uncle, there was no need to postpone it on my account,” he said.

Fingon gave him a level stare, which made Maedhros laugh. Fingolfin sighed and shook his head.

“I know you could, I do not think you should,” he said, “Go and rest, Russandol.”

Maedhros inclined his head. “As you command,” he said, rising slowly, “I do need a bath.”

\---

Maedhros’s steps were steady, almost deliberately so, and Fingon shifted closer in case he needed to support him. Maedhros noticed it, rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“I see you are still inclined to fuss over me,” he said, laughter fighting with weariness in his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” Fingon muttered, failing to keep his face straight, “I would hit you if I did not fear you would collapse.”

“I probably would just to see you fret.”

Fingon reached up and flicked him on the forehead.

\---

They found the baths empty. Maedhros’s people had already gone to the kitchens. Fingon made sure that everything was ready and turned to Maedhros, who was leaning on a wall, staring at nothing.

“Do you want my help with the armor?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros blinked and looked at his cousin. “Yes, thank you, my cursed shoulder hurts. It would be quicker if you helped. I would like to stop reeking of Orc as soon as possible.” 

Carefully, Fingon helped Maedhros strip off his armor and layers of clothing. He took a sharp breath as he looked at Maedhros’s right shoulder. It was one giant purple bruise, and Fingon stared at it accusingly.

“You claimed you weren’t wounded,” he exclaimed.

“I am not. Do you see any wounds? I just fell clumsily while chasing Orcs and hurt myself.” He pulled off his boots. “Thank you, Fingon, this would have taken half an hour without you.” His smile was small but bright. Its light warmed Fingon. “I will be fine on my own after this point,” Maedhros said.

Fingon nodded. He knew Maedhros never lied to him.

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Be so kind and see if Húrdil has finished eating. If he has, tell him to come here and to bring me the ointment for my shoulder.” 

“All right. Try not to drown there.”

“No promises.”

\---

Fingon sent Húrdil to the baths, checked that there was a room prepared for Maedhros, made sure the other guests were comfortable and saw off Angrod with his soldiers.

It was over an hour later when he knocked at Maedhros’s door. “It’s me,” he said, “May I come in?”

“Yes,” he heard Maedhros’s voice.

He found his cousin sitting on the bed, his shoulder bandaged, his hair bound loosely and his gaze wandering aimlessly. 

“You will be pleased to know that you thoroughly impressed the Sindar,” Fingon said.

Maedhros raised a brow. “Did I now?”

“You know you did. Or am I to believe you have no idea how efficient your dramatic entrance was?”

A slow grin spread on Maedhros’s face. “Did I impress you too?”

“I would be far more impressed had I found you sleeping. Why aren’t you?”

Maedhros shrugged and winced.

“Have you eaten?” Fingon asked.

“Yes,” Maedhros said.

“Are you still in pain?”

“Yes.”

“Can I help you with it?”

“No.”

Fingon bit his lip to stop himself from insisting. Weary Maedhros was manageable, weary and irritated Maedhros would prove more difficult to deal with.

“Go to sleep then,” he said, “Come on, lie down.”

Maedhros obeyed reluctantly, and Fingon pulled the covers over him. He sat next to his friend, took up a thin book of poems he had brought with him and started reading and humming a tune for the ones he liked the most. After a while, he looked at Maedhros, who was lying motionlessly.

“You are not sleeping,” Fingon noted.

“No,” Maedhros said.

“Are you even trying?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to continue answering my questions only yes or no?”

“No,” Maedhros said, smiling, his eyes closed.

Fingon chuckled and lay down. He looked at Maedhros, tense despite his light tone.

“I am going to touch your hair,” Fingon said and waited.

“Yes,” Maedhros said after a pause.

Fingon’s hand slipped into Maedhros’s hair, still damp after the bath. It was soft and silky, and Fingon enjoyed caressing it and twirling it around his fingers. He imagined he held a cool fire in his hand. He resumed his humming and saw Maedhros relax and fall into a slumber. Fingon kept playing lazily with the reddish tresses until he was half-asleep himself.

\---

The strain of Maedhros’s muscles was barely noticeable, but it alerted Fingon that his cousin was awake. Maedhros’s breathing picked up, though he didn’t move an inch. Fingon’s hand was still in his hair. Worried that he would startle Maedhros if he moved it or spoke, Fingon waited.

“Findekáno, is that you?” Maedhros whispered finally.

“Yes,” Fingon said.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

Maedhros took a few deep, shuddering breaths. 

“My shoulder hurts,” he said uncertainly.

“That’s because you fell on it when chasing Orcs, remember?”

“I did that…”

“You did. Go back to sleep, it will hurt less in the morning.”

“Yes,” Maedhros said. His breaths were deeper, but Fingon still felt the tension in his body.

“You could open your eyes and see everything for yourself,” he suggested gently.

“No,” Maedhros said.

Fingon could almost hear his jumbled thoughts.

“Do you fear what you will see if you do?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How about this? You stop thinking about it now, go back to sleep and decide what to do in the morning.”

“Will you still be here then?”

“If you wish so.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

He tried to pull his hand back, but Maedhros reached for it blindly and caught it.

“All right,” Fingon said.

His fingers slid into Maedhros’s hair again, drawing patterns on his skin. The tension soon eased from Maedhros’s body, and his breathing turned regular again. Fingon adjusted the covers with one hand and went back to sleep.


End file.
